


rallentando

by crestfaller



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (kinda), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Lisa Snart, Bisexual Barry Allen, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Abuse, Intimacy, Leonard Snart Lives, Lewis Snart's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mental Health Issues, My First Work in This Fandom, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Barry Allen, Somewhat, The Waverider (DC's Legends of Tomorrow), Touch-Starved, Whump, intimacy issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27163975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crestfaller/pseuds/crestfaller
Summary: rallentando: to slow down.Len keeps telling Barry that he should find someone more his speed. Barry wants to prove that he can go slow, too.
Relationships: (background), Barry Allen/Leonard Snart, Cisco Ramon/Lisa Snart, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 92





	1. ritenuto

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so I've never written for this fandom, so hello! I am definitely going to be shaking up how Legends of Tomorrow progressed a bit, but I'm hoping it will match up still. 
> 
> The tags may eventually include graphic depictions of violence, and this will be dealing with mental health issues pretty extensively. I am trying to stay very accurate to PTSD and have researched actual coping methods so everything you read here should actually be an accurate coping mechanism (call me out if you think it's not though!). Trigger warnings for abuse and neglect, and even a bit of sexual abuse. 
> 
> This is kind of a fun project, I've already written most of it in part, but I'll admit it's my like "thing I want to do for fun" so I'm not going to promise a timetable. I'll try to stay fairly on top of it though. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intimacy didn't come easy to Len, and Barry was alright with that. Now, he just had to convince Len of that.

Barry would have never guessed that _Len_ was better at slowing him down than his alter-ego. No gun required. No ulterior motives. Len just being himself made Barry want to go slow.

Ironically enough, Barry has stopped being late all the time because of it. He woke slow, so he woke earlier. Early enough he could _enjoy_ the morning. Sunlight drifted in through clean white curtains, almost enough to coax him immediately out of the wintry patterned quilt Len had because of course he did. Barry would open his eyes and look around the room, and instead of seeing his own pictures and little stressors, he was acquainted with very basic decorations that operated on a navy-gray scale that Len would not tell him whether or not he'd stolen. Everything was clean, except that which Barry had mussed up himself.

And Len was always already up. Always woke up early and went to bed late, Barry did not understand how a man his age could operate on the hours he kept. Len blamed it in part on the Waverider, but Barry knew it had to somewhat operate on a schedule because Len hadn't touched his coffee programmer in years and it always brewed at the same time off in the kitchen. It wasn't even that Len was already up and moving, either. Usually, Barry woke up and he was reading a book or jotting out plans in the notebook he kept by his bed.

Today he was reading a book. And as always, he seemed to know when Barry was up, always reaching over to rub his thumb on the inside of Barry's arm. "Good morning, sleepyhead."

"'Mornin'." 

Barry always slept better here. He couldn't bring himself to admit it, it felt a bit needy, but it was true. He liked having someone there, someone to talk to before going to sleep to keep the nightmares at bay. Someone watching his back as Len did. He appreciated that Len ate late because it meant that Barry would not wake up because he was ravenous - though he often got hungry quickly - and he also just appreciated the peppery warm smell that infiltrated all places Len walked. 

He shoved himself upright and swiped a hand through his hair. There was a big cowlick in the back and Barry grimaced. 

"Could just shave it off," Len remarked without Barry saying a word about it. Len passed his hand over his own shaved head. Barry chuckled. 

"Don't think there's a place for two buzz cuts in this house. Besides, I doubt I could pull it off," Barry said, trying to rub out the mess. 

Len reached up and carded his hand through Barry's hair, which made Barry shiver. Then when he got to the cowlick he tugged a little and Barry laughed. "I suppose. I'd miss it myself, to be honest."

"You like my hair?"

"You know I do." 

Another laugh. Another slow morning. Eventually they had to get up. Barry didn't speed through getting ready because Len couldn’t speed through getting ready, but also because there was something truly delightful about watching Len pick out what to wear - even though he went to change in the bathroom - and then being able to sit next to Captain Cold on his bathroom sink and brush their teeth together. It felt domestic and homey, and Barry fit into the routine with ease, despite it taking minutes instead of seconds now.

Barry spat out the gob of toothpaste into the sink. Len spat out his as well then snorted at Barry.

“I know you’ve got a big mouth, Scarlet, but maybe try not to use _all_ of my toothpaste.”

Barry wiped the back of his mouth with his wrist, his bony hands sharp against his kiss-bruised mouth. Despite sleeping in a bed together and just being around each other a lot, they really hadn’t moved further than kissing. Barry wasn’t sure if it was just because Len wasn’t inclined to the teenage necking phase or if there was more to it, but he opted not to push things. Besides, kissing was fun, and it was nice to see Len putting the same care he does into a relationship that he does into a heist. However, the toothpaste did sting a little.

“You buy the generic stuff that tastes like baking soda, it takes a while for my mouth to feel clean.”

“It’s _my_ toothpaste, buy your own,” he complained, screwing the cap back on. The toothpaste bottle was _yellow_. Len stole hundreds of thousands of dollars for a living yet he was frugal as they come. He twirled the tube around his fingers before putting it back in the drawer. “But I guess I’ll forgive you. Not your fault that your large mouth needs so much to keep it clean.”

Barry gave him the side-eye. “I’m not the only one with a big mouth.”

“When you grin it takes up half your head,” Len said, tapping his toothbrush on the rim of the sink before putting it back in its holder with a cap over the top of the bristles so they stayed clean. Because Len was a meticulous guy who had holders and organizers for everything. Barry knew he was anal about things as Captain Cold, but that definitely didn’t go away in his home life.

Barry smiled, and Len reached up to poke the edges of his mouth. “See?”

“Is that a bad thing?” It was funny feeling Len’s fingertips on his mouth as he spoke. They both chuckled.

Len shook his head. “Nah.” He smoothed his thumb along the bottom lip, tracing the whole of it. With the pad of Len’s finger drawing that long line, it really _did_ feel like the whole half of his face. But the way that Len was looking at him, with his hooded eyes and contemplative stare, he also did feel… appreciated.

Then Len got a wry smile on his face.“I always was attracted to stupid smiles.”

“No wonder you spend so much time looking into a mirror,” Barry teased. Len snorted again and turned away.

They both knew that was actually pretty far from the truth, as Len seemed to be averse to looking himself in a mirror unless he was putting on his Cold stuff, but that was one of those topics that they didn’t breach. At least, they hadn’t yet. Barry’s smile fell just a little at the thought.

They’d been together for a while with no real labels because they were both terrible at them, just existing in each other’s orbit. However, this felt… serious. Barry wanted it to be serious, and the way that Len acted, he wanted it to be serious too. But, Len could be a bit dour, and he was certainly reticent. Both as Captain Cold and as just Len, he kept his cards close, but Len wasn’t _quite_ as into the dramatic flair of his alter-ego which actually made things harder. He didn’t like drawing attention to himself, he didn’t like conversation to veer onto him as the subject, he didn’t like compliments much if Barry made clear that he meant every word.

Barry was trying to peel back the layers a bit more, but, he also kind of liked the slow pace. This felt more _real_ than so many of this other relationships. Despite the two being on opposite ends on the news, they fit into each other’s lives so well. And Len, Len wasn’t afraid to show Barry that he cared about him. In fact, Len made that very clear.

So, Barry could be patient. In a lifetime ahead of him full of speed, of being the fastest man alive, he also felt like he had something to prove: he could be slow, if that’s what Len wanted.

Len exited the bathroom, beckoning Barry to follow. At the end of the hall was Len’s bag, a dark cloud in their blue-sky morning. It was almost time for him to go back on the Waverider.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Len tipped Barry’s chin to stop looking at it. “Don’t go missing me yet, Red. We've got the rest of the morning, and I’m still here until tonight.“

“Then you don’t know how long you’ll be gone,” Barry said. “Excuse me for being a bit sad about that.”

“I’m flattered,” Len said. Len put both of his hands on Barry’s shoulders, thumbs at the collarbones, _God_ his every touch was deliberate and it gave Barry chills. Then he reached up and pressed a kiss high on Barry’s cheek. “Never would have guessed the Flash would miss me before I was even gone.”

“You know that’s not true,” Barry countered. “We had fun even before we started doing this.”

“I knew _I_ was having fun. Part of my fun was pissing you off, though. If I’d known you were enjoying it, I might have stopped.” Len got that voice of his, that drawl, and a wicked smile played at his lips.

“Oh don’t worry, you pissed me off plenty. Still do. Frequently.” Len raised an eyebrow and finally grinned enough to bare his teeth, and Barry shrugged. “I don’t mind getting riled up by you, though.”

“Always knew you to be a glutton for punishment, Scarlet.”

Barry narrowed his eyes at him. “Ha-ha.”

“Don’t worry,” Len now moved his hands down to Barry’s waist. “So am I.”

He kissed him properly this time. Slow, because everything was slow, and Len’s mouth was soft and smelled like baking soda because of his stupid generic toothpaste, but it still flooded the senses. It warmed Barry all the way down to his toes, and he felt like his mouth was magnetized to Len the way that he kissed.

He was happy for this time before Len left on the Waverider and nearly got killed in Hunter’s obsessive mission.Len was trying to do good, though. _Captain Cold_ was leaving to do good, with Heat Wave of all people. Barry couldn’t stand in the way of that, even if right now it was all he wanted to do. 

Len kept the touch to Barry’s waist. At most he would slide his hand to his ribs or the small of his back. Always over his shirt, unless Barry guided him otherwise, and even then it was scant dips under the hem of Barry’s tee or blunt nails digging at his collar. Len seemed to just like anchor points, and wasn’t as touchy as Barry usually was. It wasn’t that it lacked passion; no, Len was a damn intense kisser who could get Barry’s heart racing so many ways — maybe it was because he was so focused, or so deliberate, or maybe it was just _Len_ — but Barry had never been so worked up from kisses in his life. When he kissed Barry on the neck, he just about melted. And Len would laugh, because Barry was so loud and he was so _not_ , but it was always affectionate. Would usually end with Len cupping the back of his head and tipping it back slightly so he could kiss into Barry’s open mouth. It was all kinds of glorious.

But because Barry knew how purposeful Len was with everything, he knew that the restrained touches meant something was up. Barry matched best he could. Didn’t try to raise Len’s shirt, roamed his hands a bit more than he did but kept to safe spots, because he knew that Len wasn’t always the most receptive to touch. Most of his noises had to do with the intake or sighing out of breath, with the occasional chuckle, and he rarely got any louder than that.

Len may tease Barry about never having a plan and blasting through, but he could pick up on signals. He could follow. And Len didn’t seem comfortable with any more than those things.

Except this morning. This morning, near the bag about to go on the Waverider in just a night and baking soda toothpaste, Len put his hand up Barry’s shirt. Trailed his fingertips along the knobs of Barry’s spine, which made him lurch forward and clutch onto Len’s shirt.

“You okay?” Len asked, a murmur in his ear.

Barry cradled Len’s jaw and kissed him hard on his mouth, which made Len step back. He broke away. “Perfect.”

And Barry matched. Time to be bolder. He liked the idea of having a memory of going a bit further than they had been to rely on, loved the idea of finally knowing what Len _felt_ like. A palm was placed over Len’s stomach, and he shivered, a small gasp into his mouth. Barry’s hand climbed ever so slightly, over the raised marring of a scar.

A small noise came out of Len’s mouth, and Barry backed off. “Okay?”

“Fine, Scarlet.” And Len dragged him in yet again. Barry waited a moment. Kept to safe touches. Then, when Len went bold, he reciprocated.

The next part happened so fast that Barry had whiplash. A sick noise came out of Len’s mouth, like he was knocked on his back and lost all the air in his lungs. His stomach caved in and recoiled from the touch, Barry able to feel the spasm of his abdomen with the ghost of his fingertips. Then Len was out of his space entirely, launched back against the wall with a thud, the only connection his grip on Barry’s arm, rigid, forcing him away.

Barry held still, unsure what had just happened.

“Fuck,” Len said. His voice quiet. Small. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, but Barry could see his ribs shake a little bit. “Fuck,” he said, even more choked.

“Do you have an open wound or something —” Barry asked.

“No.” Len clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

“Did I hurt you?” Barry was usually in control of the Speed Force, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t accidentally do something when he wasn’t paying attention.

The grip on Barry became tight enough to bruise, if Barry still bruised at such things. “Nothing you did.”

Shaking himself out, Len got a more stable stance and stood up a little straighter. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” he said. Len’s gaze was everywhere but Barry, and Barry knew well enough what he was doing. Checking the exits, checking the floor. Finally, his gaze settled on the clock. “You need food or you're going to pass out later, and at this rate you'll be late for work. First time in your life you might have a perfect attendance record, we can't ruin that.”

The drawl was back. In fact, Len looked completely put together all over again, like they were just carrying out their conversation from before. One aspect still remained, the grip on Barry’s arm. The moment he looked, however, Len forced himself to let go and fisted his hands into his pockets.

“Wait. What?” Barry felt like he was losing his mind. “No, wait a minute, Len, we need to talk about this.”

“Nothin’ to talk about, kid. I’m all fine if you are. Let's have breakfast." Len moved to walk toward his kitchen island, but Barry stepped in front of him. 

“It sounded like I hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Then what was that?”

His narrowed eyes shifted to look at him, one of his heavy, intense stares. _You didn’t see anything_. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit, Len, _something_ just happened.”

Len clapped his hands together. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“How? When I touch you and you sound like I’ve effectively stabbed you, how does that not concern me?”

“You’re being dramatic. It’s just… a reaction.”

“A reaction? A reaction to what?”

“I’m a little jumpy, can you blame a guy?” Len asked.

“What do you think I’m going to do?”

Len groaned. “Not about you. I don’t think _you’re_ going to do anything. It’s not — it just happens.”

“Has this happened before?” Barry asked. 

Len fixed him with a strange look. "You would know, Barry. I haven't been seeing anyone else." Len cocked an eyebrow. "Have you?"

"No!" Then Barry realized that Len was trying to change the conversation. He was good at that, switching the subject the moment it fell into territory he wouldn't like, but they needed to talk about this. “It's just, you've been with other people," Barry said.

They’d discussed this. Not at length, because again, Len was private, but they’d both been with other people and Barry saw no reason Len would feel the need to lie about that. Just in case, however, Len did nod again. “Was this…” Barry was trying to be careful with how he phrased it. Call it a _problem_ and Len would get defensive as hell. But Barry couldn’t pretend that the reaction wasn’t surprising. “Was this something that happened with others?”

“Didn’t really have the time for it,” Len replied. And if that wasn’t cryptic as ever.

“What does that mean?”

Something was swimming in Len’s gaze, as though he didn’t really have the answer himself. “It just… it never… it just wasn’t a focus of anything. Most my other relationships weren’t so damn _touchy-feely_ , Red. They just kind of got to it, never had to go through each step to unpack.”

Barry’s first reaction was to be annoyed, but he was learning to read between the lines. Instead, it left him feeling pretty touched. He was more vulnerable with Barry than he had been in other relationships. More open with him than the others.

Then he took in the rest of what he said: _They just kind of got to it_.

Even worse, what Len said after. “That could be the answer. I am talking to the resident expert on being fast, I'm sure you could just pick up the pace.”

Len said it cavalierly, even with a hint of a smile, but something in the mood shifted. A crackling in the air, and this wasn’t the speed force.

It was then that Barry realized what Len meant.

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal!?” Barry was not going to just _speed through_ all of Len’s reactions to touch him. “I’m not going to — do you even know what you’re saying? What that sounds like?”

“Other people have done it. And it seemed to work. You’re getting all defensive, it’s not like I’m asking you to force me to do anything, I’ll shoot your head off before I let that happen. It’s not that I don’t want it.”

“I’m not doing that!” And judging by the guarded look in Len’s eye, he didn’t _want_ Barry to want to do that. “Since when does Captain Cold allow for people to just move in on him without say? You don’t let anyone have their way with you without being part of it or putting up a fight. Why on earth would you advocate for that?”

“Like I said, it’s not forcing. You’re just expediting the process, isn’t that what Team Flash liked doing when they made the Pipeline, not letting those metas have their due? You should be all about that.”

“Stop it,” Barry snapped. He should have known the moment he brought Captain Cold into this, Len would respond in kind. This was what Barry had been trying to avoid. Months ago as the Flash he thought Captain Cold had a particular quality at getting under his skin, but it was nothing compared to their time as just Barry and Len. Len was able to find the exact right words to enrage him, and he knew it too. In fact, Len seemed to rely on it in moments like this, which was starting to drive Barry nuts. “Quit trying to make me angry so we avoid talking about this, it won’t work.”

“Sure about that?”

“I’m not going to try to sleep with you when you look scared to death.”

He scoffed. “You don’t scare me.”

“ _Len_.”

Len seemed to recalibrate. He shook off the cold demeanor and said, “Promise I don’t mind. It’d get us to the good stuff, anyway.”

“Not to me. You do get that, right? If you don’t like it, I won’t like it. Right?”

“Ah, Barry Allen, consent queen,” Len said with a funny expression on his face. Barry liked to think it was relief.

“Gladly.”

Len smiled, fond. Clearly still uncomfortable, Barry could watch the way the muscles of Len's forearms shifted as he clenched and unclenched his fist in his pocket, but he seemed to be relaxing. “That’s nice, Scarlet. Really. But you don’t have to worry about me. I’m giving it to you.”

Barry had self-esteem issues, he’d dealt with depression and whatever else, the two had both been through enough trauma to last a lifetime. This, however, Barry didn’t know how to deal with. At the end of the day, Barry was lucky; he’d had a net of support who would never have allowed him to get away with saying things like that. With being treated like that. Not for long.

Len never had that. No one to fall back on, not really. He took it all on himself, to protect Lisa, to protect Mick. He was the brains behind the Rogues, built himself up from nothing. It was incredibly impressive, and though it'd caused a lot of headaches, Barry had to admit he was kind of proud of him. Len created his own protection in a network he had the reigns to where he was on top. And though that was support of a sort, Barry could only imagine how isolating it'd been. 

That’s why it chilled Barry to the bone that when Len did seek out those creature comforts, he let himself get dragged into them instead of led. The longer he dwelled on it, the more nauseous Barry felt.

A complicated series of expressions flitted about Len's face. He took in Barry, and Barry took in him, and Len slumped a little. He took a step forward, sucking in a deep breath. "Barry, I mean it when I say you don’t scare me. I don’t know why I react like that. Just do, sometimes. It truly is just easier when you ignore me because I get over it. It’s just my body, my head — it’s not that I don’t want it.”

“You get over it or you get through it?” Barry gripped the edge of the counter, tapped his foot, tried to think. Tried to figure out what to say that wouldn't upset him. “Look, I’m not going to claim that I get why it’s happening, because I don’t. And whatever your feelings are, they’re yours, and I’ll believe you’re being honest. Maybe you haven’t minded, or maybe you’ve convinced yourself you don’t.” Barry couldn’t stop the shot, but, he just had to get it out that that wasn’t _normal_. That he shouldn’t have had to do that. “But I do. I don’t want to do that to you. There’s got to be a better way than doing… that.”

Len wound up tight, jerked his head away, wouldn’t look Barry in the eye. “Y'know, there is a simple solution.”

Barry rolled his eyes. "Are you listening at all? I _won’t_ —”

“You could go find someone your speed.” Len said. Nonchalant. Like he wasn’t dropping a bomb on their conversation.

Barry furrowed his eyebrows. Opened his mouth, but couldn’t find all the things he wanted to say. Couldn’t go through everything Len meant to reply to all of it. Ran his tongue over his teeth hoping he could comb intelligible thoughts out of his mouth, but all he could manage was, “I don’t want to do that.”

Len shrugged. Picked himself up off the wall, standing tall again. Rolling out his shoulders. “It’d be easier, than this mess. Think about it.” He looked at the clock again. “Really, you’ve got to get going. You’ll be late for work. You’ve got bad guys to catch," Len said with a wink.

How could he be so calm after everything? Barry was fast, but Len’s brain went quicker, able to page through topics like Barry skimmed a book. “I want to talk about this.”

“Yeah?” Len reached and placed a hand on Barry's shoulder, pulled himself up to Barry. Then, the subtlest shift, a quirk of his mouth, and Len leaned back. Let him go. “I don’t.” 

Then he backed off, and in typical Len fashion, fled the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm extra, I think I will make all the chapters italian phrases found in sheet music. 
> 
> ritenuto: held back, or slower; unlike other tempo instructions, this can apply to a single note instead of a musical phrase.


	2. scordato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len tries to clear his head, but he keeps finding himself stuck exactly where he doesn't want to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> scordato: to put out of tune.
> 
> warning: language. descriptions of violence. past abuse.

Len was about two steps away from a cliff dive.

Playing the conversation back in his head — his stupid _reaction_ — made his skin feel itchy and like he was going to burst apart at the seams. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, either. It made his stomach do that same convulsing thing it did when Barry touched him, too, which was in and of itself a reason to lose his cool. 

It’d been a long time coming to give up the ghost, but no matter what he did Len couldn’t shake it off of him.Got himself a male lover on the good guy’s side, the kind of thing that would make his pops turn in his grave, and yet it wasn’t enough. Those memories were like having a backpack strapped onto him: he couldn’t take it off, and with each passing day that he and Barry grew closer the bag got heavier and heavier and heavier, anchoring him back where he started.

Hell, he could feel it on his back right now as he ran, ever the coward, from a conversation that risked exposing far too much. But he couldn’t talk about it. Didn’t know how to talk about it. Didn’t _want_ to talk about it. Besides, if Barry really wanted to talk about it too, the kid could just flash right next to him.

Len didn’t let anyone hurt him anymore, but for some reason he couldn’t get rid of all the shit that was done to him when he was a kid. The touches to him now were soft and kind and so very _Barry_ that he wanted to revel in it, but his body threw up the panic alarm. Shivers turned to spasms, and he could feel the full weight of a grown man on his childhood ribs again, not allowing enough air in his lungs to cry out. Flecks of cigarette ash peppering his skin just where Barry was trying to skitter his fingers. Barry’s cracked knuckles made him flinch because he’d felt the brunt of a fist so many times. The sounds in Len’s throat that started off as a sigh built up into the desire to scream, but he couldn’t do that, because the moment he screamed his father would gag him or cover his mouth with that sticky hand of his that was always covered in beer and grime and cum, the smell alone making his eyes burn.

Then suddenly, Len wasn’t in the present at all. He was ten years old and getting beaten to hell, and he needed to break free. Even if he was breaking free from Barry, who wouldn’t dream of hurting him.

Hence why he ran away like an idiot. He just — he needed to focus his attention on something that didn’t feel like Barry was doing an autopsy on him. Which was how he ended up at Saints and Sinners at 8 in the morning.

It wasn’t open, but Len didn’t much care. Mick was likely already helping himself, blowing steam before getting back on the Waverider. There’d been a day when Mick would rather be dead than be up at such a time, but, the Legends quests made for strange sleep schedules and now he could be up at any time.

The moment he cracked open the door, there he was, helping himself behind the bar. His glass glittering in the light, though the rest of Mick looked a little dusty like he hadn’t slept some nights. He regarded Len with a nod and tipped his head to welcome him inside. “Bartender said I could help myself.”

“Uh-huh.”

Len stepped inside, taking in the place without its character messes left by the Rogues. Everything was less potent, didn’t overwhelm the senses, had a subtlety Len recognized was rare among the crew he had put together. The smell of cigarettes was faint, mingled with fresh cut lemons for garnishes so it left a calming tobacco smell. The floorboards, though splintered in some places and chipped in others, were not covered in grime and spilled beer, even if some of the tackiness could never be washed out. Unlike when it was at its height of business where chaos was all well under way, in the morning it was much more Len’s style: clean and organized, danger in the distance.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you till later,” Mick said. “CCPD can’t lose Sparky for a day?”

“Don’t think he had the heart to ask.” It would also require explaining _why_ and there were very few who knew he was in a relationship, Joe West not being one of them. “Besides, we’re not attached at the hip. Need my space every once in a while.”

That comment was received with a flat stare from Mick. Then he turned away and took a sip of his drink. “Space, huh? Funny you come here for _space_. Have a drink and say what’s really goin’ on.”

“It’s eight in the morning,” Len said to the drink. “And what can I say, he gets a little squeaky clean sometimes.”

“Squeaky clean is what got us our new gig. Thought squeaky clean was our _thing_ now.”

Len snorted. “Hardly.” The day Mick and Len become ‘squeaky clean’ is the day they both find God and give up their guns.

“Sure it doesn’t have to do with the reason you’ve got that look on your face?”

“What look?”

Mick sighed, but turned to regard him fully. “Like you just got a fist to the gut.” He took another drink, downing it fully before grabbing the bottle and filling it up again. “Like you just saw someone you wish you hadn’t.”

“Nothin’ like that.”

“Didn’t say those things actually happened,” Mick said. “Just sayin’ you look like they did.”

Sometimes Len hated that Mick knew so much about him. Despised the fact that Mick looked after him as a kid in juvie, stood up for him, because he saw a kid that flinched in the face of violence despite being supposedly thrown in juvie because of it. They were close friends, but at the same time, they both sucked at navigating the terms of their associations. Sometimes, they were partners in crime and nothing more. Sometimes, they were best friends who would do anything for each other.

Not that it was all on Mick. Len was shit at keeping it consistent, too.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You tell Red that this morning, too?”

“Not your business.”

“Yes,” Mick assumed. Now the itchy feeling under his skin was something entirely different from any memories and was instead him trying to suppress the desire to freeze Mick where he stood.

“Came here to not talk about it. Usually isn’t an issue in your company.”

Mick grumbled. He raised an eyebrow. “I’d tell you to play nice, but —”

“Neither of us were ever any good at that,” Len said with a laugh. Mick laughed too.

That was when the door burst open, and a woman looked like she was born for mischief entered the room. She walked in with purpose for a few steps, sunglasses on despite the cloudy weather, helmet in hand before she slammed upon the bartop. She acted like she damn well owned the place, and despite the only two being in the room, attention was on her. 

Then again, it usually ended up that way. 

“Hey Lise,” Len and Mick said simultaneously.

The act was essentially stamped out like a cigarette, and suddenly it was little sister Lise instead of Queen of the Rogues. She ran over to Len, immediately latching onto his arm. “Lenny! I didn’t think I’d get to see you before you left!”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Mick asked, but he had a smile on his face.

“I figured I’d see _you_ here, Mick,” Lisa corrected, reaching over the bartop and pinching his cheek, which made Mick lurch back.

Len patted her arm, and she grabbed his hand and squeezed. “You boys all packed? Got enough underwear? Your phone charger? Remember to send me postcards,” she said, her wicked grin showing her pearly white teeth.

"Mm, only a postcard? Heard we might be going to Athens, I could get you something in gold."

Lisa's eyes glittered as she pondered the possibilities. "Give me one of those medusa heads if you make it out there," she said. "Ooh, maybe I'll ask Cisco to add that to my Gold Gun." She whipped out her cell phone and sat down beside him on the stool, sitting cross-legged which looked uncomfortable as hell. "Mick, could ya get me one of those ginger ales?"

With a snort, Mick nodded but tended to his own drink first. 

“There a Rogues meeting this morning?” Len asked. Usually they were in the dead of night kind of folks, and he doubted that even Lisa could rouse a bunch of night owls to that kind of early morning. Then again, Mick was able to change.

But Lisa shook her head.“No. I've got a deal with the owner, I get to use the office upstairs. I don’t keep anything here that is worth stealing, but it’s nice to just have a place that is actually _loud_ most of the time. Or at least, I know there's some other living body in the vicinity” She shrugged. “I like knowing there’s another living soul, ya know?”

Where Lisa was staying was very quiet, which was great for safety and protection, but it was not great for Lisa’s nerves.

Len nodded. “I know,” Len said. “Glad to hear it.”

Mick finally tossed her the ginger ale and it opened with a pop and fizz. She grinned. “However, this being down here? It’s _dangerous_.”

“Can't drink too many of those, or you'll float."

Lisa snorted and knocked his arm with her fist, grinning big. "I remember the first time you told me that, I thought I was going to end up like the blueberry girl in Willy Wonka."

"You did, just dipped in gold," Len remarked and she gasped, incredulous, but pleased. Then, as if to spite him, she tipped her head back and drank it down. With a satisfied sigh, she actually looked at the phone in her hand and then raised an eyebrow. A small grin grew on her face.

Len couldn't believe that of all the men in Center City, she went for the nerd at Barry's lab. Worse, it gave her far too much poking and prodding potential into his life and his relationship. Which, though it was his sister, he still didn't exactly love the idea of her nosing her way into his personal affairs. 

Like now, when she asked, “Why’s Barry so wound up this morning, Lenny?”

“It’d probably be better that you _don’t_ remind me you’re dating the lab rat at STAR labs.”

“His name’s Cisco —”

“I know his name," Len grunted. He pointed at the glass full of ice. "Water," he asked. Mick gave him a bored look but complied, and Len put the cold glass to his forehead as he asked a question he knew he'd regret, "Why is he asking?" 

“Apparently when he called Barry this morning he was, like, super spastic and agitated, then hung up.”

Len rolled his eyes. “He gets like that.”

“Len pissed him off,” Mick interjected.

“I didn’t _do_ anything.”

Len hadn’t. Not really. Not anything he meant to do. What was he supposed to say? _Sorry my shitty body can’t keep up with your teenage-horny-lightning-in-a-bottle desires_?

Len reminded himself that if he ever said anything along those lines out loud to freeze off his own tongue and chuck it in the garbage disposal.

“Then I’ll tell Cisco to tell Barry to stop being so damn pissy.”

A quick reflex and Len snatched the phone out of her hands. “Hey!”

“You and the nerd can butt-out,” Len said, sliding the phone down the counter with a smooth glide. It hit the wooden edging of the bartop with a nice thud, and Len couldn't deny he was satisfied.

Lisa pouted.

“It's not your business anyway," Len said, hoping to be done with the matter. 

“C'mon, tell me. Trouble in paradise?” Lisa asked.

Was he speaking in a different language? In code? “Thought I just said to leave it alone, Lise.”

“He came here for _space_ ,” Mick said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. Len glared at him.

Lisa got up off her stool and walked to the edge of the counter. Flipping the phone back into her hands with a huff, as well as flipping him the bird, as if the whole process was far too big a chore for her. When she walked back, she flicked Len in the temple. “Y’know, the whole guarded thing might be your problem.”

“Oh for God’s sakes,” Len said, rubbing his temple where she flicked.

“I’m serious! Little Barry Allen? He’s probably not used to people who aren’t, ya know, spewing their emotions left and right. If Cisco is any indication.”

“He has a _secret identity_ ,” Len defended. It wasn't compelling, though. 

Lisa and Mick shared a look and huffed a laugh, and Len found himself cursing Barry's inability to keep even the most basic secret truly private. “Yeah, and look how many people know who he is now. He’s lucky we Rogues are so nice. And that you were sweet on him,” Lisa teased. Len wanted to faze into the floor. Barry could faze into the floor. Through doors and solid objects, he could speed right through them. He'd really like that power right about now. However he couldn't, and Lisa continued on, “he’s kind of a big open book. Same with Cisco. I can always tell what he’s thinking, but I like watching him try to figure out what’s on my mind.”

The mood crackled in the air for Len, but it seemed like Mick and Lisa were impervious. All in jest, all good fun, Lisa just talking about her nuisance boyfriend and ribbing on Len. It felt all too on-the-nose for this morning though, and it was starting to get to him.

“I don’t need to hear this.”

Then Lisa got soft, which made the air even thicker. Leaned forward, put her feet on Len’s chair to build a little bridge between the two of them. “It’s hard to open up. I hear ya. It’s something we Snarts suck at, but… It feels good, Lenny.”

He didn't need good old romantic advice from his younger sister, and he really hated the idea of talking it out. Part of him, a very small part, wanted to ask her how the hell she did it, if she did. How she let anyone talk about that without wanting to cut off her own ears and swallow them. But he stuffed that feeling down. She and Cisco could go be open books together and they’d probably have a merry old time, he didn't need to drag her down. It wasn't her problem he couldn’t even handle fingertips on an old burn scar without an impending feeling of doom. 

This was not what he needed from Saints and Sinners at 8 in the fucking morning.

“You’re probably right,” he said, hoping that would effectively end the conversation. Pushing her feet off of his stool, he took the new space between them as a chance to stand up. He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek and moved past her. “I’ll see you soon, ‘kay?”

She frowned. “Lenny..." 

“Just got to sort out some things,” Len said. He took her hand and squeezed it, then dropped it and moved along. “You keep yourself safe alright? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."

"No promises," she said. Trying to smile. Not able to quite pull it off. _Shit_. Whatever, he'd deal with it later, when he could clear his head. When he could actually get the space he wanted in the first place. 

He'd cleared his way of the bar and almost made it to the door when Mick said,

“You gonna let your old man take your whole life away from you?”

A fuse shorted in Len’s head. His hands went numb and his blood went cold.

The mention of Lewis Snart had a pretty typical reaction of irritating him. This time, however, he felt like he was about to lose his mind. Clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to focus on the feel of his parka, trying to focus on anything else to keep a handle on things.

He didn’t want to be angry. He couldn’t get angry. He _shouldn’t_ get angry with Lisa was right behind him. God knows he did not need to show her how much he could be like Lewis _fucking_ Snart. But the rage was crawling up his spine and threading across his teeth and he knew the moment he opened his mouth it would be nothing but absolute fury. He needed to keep his mouth shut.

But he couldn’t be silent, either. Silence was her worst enemy, and Len was clearly pissed. Enraged silence was what freaked her out, because when Lewis beat the shit out of him he did nothing but yell in his face, but when he went for Lisa he was so fucking _quiet_. So he couldn't just not say anything and seethe here, because that was the very thing she came here to avoid thinking about. Echoes of the past. The very baggage he didn't want to dump on her. 

“I’ll meet you outside,” Mick said. Because he knew. Because Len couldn’t hide it now any better than he could with Barry no matter how hard he tried.

“Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse, his throat _burned_. “See ya.”

Pushing open the door with a heavy thud of his shoulder, he was reacquainted with the burning sun and yet bitter cold. Autumn well on its way. Len always preferred the chill from the warmth, but this time it wasn’t enough to calm him down.

He scrubbed his face and ran his hands over his head, feeling the prickle of his hair. God he was so wound up, a coil in him constricting his stomach up to his lungs.

The door opened behind him and he jumped a foot in the air.

_Jesus Christ what is —_

“— wrong with you?” Mick finished his own thought.

Len blinked at him. He hadn’t startled at something like that in a long time. He hadn’t startled because he hadn’t watched the door close, hadn’t checked out all possible escape plans, hadn’t caught the time to think on how things were going to operate even though all he was going to do was sit and wait. For the first time in years, Len had walked somewhere and not assessed it at all.

“I don’t know,” Len admitted. Everything felt so off-kilter. All his damaged nerves that he thought had numbed were alight, overstimulated, and he was ready to spring. “Back there _—_ you shouldn't have done that."

Mick batted away Len’s anger with ease, which just wound him up even more. “Got it. Crossed a line, you’ll freeze me if I do something like that again, or whatever other threat, Snart.” It was almost as if Mick was bored of the conversation. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Len’s brain felt like it was stuttering. If _Mick_ was managing to keep himself calm, he should ask Barry if he’d managed to drag them into an alternate reality in their sleep or something. What world was he in where he couldn’t keep a reign on himself but Mick was level headed? 

What role did he have in a world like that?

“Nothing.”

Then Mick got his wide eyed look, the one he got before he lit everything on fire, and Len realized he was exactly where he had been yesterday. Just didn’t have a grip on it anymore.

“I don’t want to get on a tiny cramped ship with you like this, Cold. Get it out. Clearly someone popped the lock on all your shit, so you might as well take this time to let go a little.”

Had something happened to him? Since when had he let anyone _pop the lock on all his shit_ , as Mick so eloquently put it? He’d learned to channel his emotions a long time ago. Fuck, he could be called a million different things and he never once got this enraged. Len couldn’t remember the last time he was this angry and couldn’t reign it in.

“I need to get a grip.”

“Do ya ever listen to anyone but yourself?” Mick asked.

Admittedly, Len wasn't really listening. He reached for his Cold Gun and put his hand around the grip, put his finger on the trigger but made no move to pull it. Just wanted to have it near, just wanted to know that he still had the power on his side, and that was completely in his control.

Deep breath. In. Out. Do it again. Fucking _chill_.

“I need to apologize,” Len said after a moment.

Mick’s thick eyebrows knitted together and he raised his hands up to stop him. “Why? You didn’t do nothin’.”

“Lise doesn’t need my bullshit. Which, again, is why you shouldn’t provoke me when she’s in the room,” Len bit back.

“She’s not ever gonna be afraid of you, ya know.” The fucking nerve of him to say something like that. “She’s seen you mad, usually makes her laugh.”

Whatever effect the deep breathing had, it was washed out by Mick’s incessant opinions. “Shut up, Mick." He bashed his shoulder against Mick's trying to get past him, and Mick shoved him back. Hard. 

"Don't start something you can't finish, Snart," Mick said. 

"Who said I can't finish?" Len asked, pulling the Cold Gun around in his holster but not quite taking it out. 

Mick huffed like a bull, but he didn't look angry. Looked a bit pitying, which somehow made it worse. “Now's not the time. Not when you’re losing your cool," he said. More even toned than Len.

Mick was stopping a fight between the two of them. He didn't want to start something, was able to reign it in and not start throwing punches impulsively. Fricking _Mick._

He was right. Len was losing his grip. Losing _control_. Usually so careful crafted, he froze his emotions into blocks and chipped them down into ice sculptures that were of his design, of his volition and use. Now, he was just shattering them all, and instead of having careful casings of restraint he had an obliterated mess that was melting rapidly and flooding him over.

“Fuck.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned away from them. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” A similar feeling to this morning in his own kitchen, forcing Barry to keep the hell away from him.

This wasn’t just going away.

Then big hands fell on his shoulders and he lurched, a loud gasp coming out of his throat and he launched up from the ground, falling back to the concrete with a hard stomp.

“Christ, Len.”

Len whirled around and tried to catch his breath, regarding Mick warily. Mick was staring at him like he’d grown a second head, and all Len could think was that it was as empty as the first if that was the case. Mick nevermade him feel like he was fourteen again, so skittish and wired and desperately trying to organize his world. It was so clear nowadays that Len had planned out his world, had his heists down to the detail, knew the time down to the second. Except now he didn't. Now he was just as lost to the flow of things as he was in juvie, trying to find a place to belong so he didn't get kicked the shit out of all over again. Or worse. 

He scrubbed his face again. _Come back to reality. You’re not screaming from the damn basement. You're not behind bars. You're out. You're out. You're out._

Mick raised his hands up. “Just me, kiddo.”

 _Ha_ , Len wanted to say, wanted to react, but it was shriveled up in his chest. Mick hadn’t called him ‘kiddo’ in years. Since they were in juvie together and Mick was a behemoth next to him, a scrawny little runt. All Len could manage was a nod.

“You need to go shit out the stick you’ve had surgically planted in your ass, Len,” he said.

That _did_ make Len laugh, but at the same time he felt like he might cry. Leave it to Mick to lighten the mood when things got serious, when things got strange.

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah.” Mick looked back at the door of Saints and Sinners, probably wishing he could go back to his drink rather than deal with the mess that was Len right now. But he didn't leave quite yet. “Talk to Sparky. He cheers you up for some reason.”

“I should talk to Lisa —”

“Not now. She gets you anyway. You Snarts have a fucking hive mind.”

Len sighed. Talking to Lisa right now would probably end up sending him through the roof.

"Right."

Mick crossed his arms and looked back at Len, taking him in whole. “Like I said, I don’t want to be on a cramped ship with you leaping so high you bang your head on the ceiling. Get your shit together.”His tone of voice was a little off. Sounding selfish, just because that’d make Len feel like he was more in step. And there were people who said that Mick had no intuitive skills. He had his moments, truly.

“Payback for the countless times I thought you were going to set the ship on fire," Len replied. Trying to sound easy. Failing for the most part. 

Mick bought into it anyway. “Still think you should have let me burn Rip.”

“Only if you light Raymond on fire too.”

“Ah, Haircut’s not so bad,” Mick said. The implications of Mick's fondness for the boy scout weren't exactly lost on him. At least Len was still observant, if nothing else.

Maybe Mick would figure it out too. Would be able to unload all of his shit, all of his desire for fire. Maybe he already was on his way, judging by how this conversation was. Maybe Len would be the only one still stuck not quite there but not quite back either. In a limbo where he was completely alone, because he finally faced a puzzle he couldn't figure out. Even more embarrassing, it was about _himself_. 

Thoughts like that? He needed to be rid of them. Needed them _gone_. He began edging towards the sidewalk, wanting to make his escape from this whole situation. 

Mick noticed. “See you later?” he asked. 

“Yup. Rendezvous at 11:30 tonight. Don’t be late.”

“You and your fucking timetables.”

Len turned away from him, feeling like he needed to run. But before he rounded the corner he shouted once more, "don’t be late!”

Not that it really mattered. It was a time ship. But if he could have control over one thing still, he could be on time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate the kudos and comments! They mean the world to me, and I'm glad there are people out there who like it. Let me know what you think of this latest one -- I know Mick here is a little softer than he perhaps is on the show, but I really like displaying that side to him since it definitely exists as seen in the last episode of Season 1 LoT and other things. 
> 
> Also, what's going to end up being like my first four chapters was initially going to be all one chapter. Oh well. I think I might make this into a chapter thing but also a series, so this would be set up and then the next chapter set would go more in depth. Who knows, we'll get there when we get there, yeah?


	3. pizzicato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pizzicato: to pluck the strings, creating a staccato effect.  
> (staccato: with each note sharply detached or separated from the others).

Barry wondered, helplessly, if it would always be like this.

Yes, it was dramatic, and _yes_ , he knew while working he should really be focusing on actually looking at the particulates in his microscope, but instead he found himself thinking in metaphors and analogies and in worlds far away from here.

The microscope was a good vehicle for that. Let him think that, maybe, he spent too much time looking into them. That maybe he was doing himself a disservice by thinking that, if he just looked a little harder, if he just set the focus a little differently, whatever he was trying to see would expose itself to him. That there was always something beyond the surface level, and that, since he’s _oh so smart_ , he could find a way to make it tangible. Able to have and to hold and to learn from. 

Maybe he should stop thinking of things like a petri dish under a microscope. Sometimes, fabric was just fabric, and putting it underneath a microscope would tell him nothing except for that which was already known. There was nothing more to it, and every second he wasted trying to fumble around with the diopters and the distance and the lenses was another minute wasted on a project that will lead to a dead end.

He took the tray out from the microscope, labeled it quick, and put it with the other evidence that was leading to nowhere. This case, thankfully, was not some violent crime that every second he wasted was letting some killer get away with murder, but he still needed to give it his attention. Yet, Barry’s mind kept _straying_.

Rubbing his eyes, he tried to shift his mind to the present. To what he could deal with right now. He grabbed the next sample, something that he knew he could get more from. Something strange that already clued to him that there was more than meets the eye.

Science does not fail him. Not all evidence can be washed away, not all risks mitigated. The fabric was just fabric, but soil often lends itself to more. Underneath that microscope he could see _one of these is not like the other_ , and a location can be pulled up onto a computer. It wasn’t much, but it was something. With a few more tests and analytics, Barry would be able to report back that if the officers followed this clue, they would be on the right track.

And just so, Barry was back to thinking: there was more to Leonard Snart.

He’d shown that so many times: There was good in him, proven. Didn’t love many, but who he loved he would put his life on the line for. Len was no saint, but there were certain sins even he couldn’t stand for; a moral code that though Barry disagreed with its bounds, they existed, and he would defend them tooth and nail. They could agree on that.

But there’s where lied the problem. Every time Barry found out the _more_ , it was like pulling teeth. It always came opposite a deal, always came with deciphering and decoding and riddles. When it was The Flash versus Captain Cold it was kind of a fun game, but in a relationship it was getting old. Every closeness Barry yearned for always had a barrier up in front of it, whether it was plexiglass or sealed lips. For once, he just wanted something to come easy.

“Finding everything you need?”

Deep and quiet, said like a secret and not like a cop.

“Are you trying to get thrown in jail so you can’t make it on the Waverider?” Barry asked, trying to be just as quiet, just as secretive, but he knew he was failing. “Because if so, I’m all for it.”

Len laughed. "Would you break me out?"

"Not a chance." 

"Then where's the fun in that? No, I prefer to _almost_ get caught." Len said with a grin. Barry smiled. 

"I'm pretty sure I've won the last few." 

"Are all heroes this cocky? Your job's a lot easier now that you have a nemesis who doesn't mind seeing you, Red."

Barry quirked an eyebrow. "Sounds like an excuse to me." 

They fell into silence immediately, comfortable. All of Barry's existential musings thrown out the window, and Len even seemed at ease. But they were _literally_ in CCPD, Len was in a police uniform - that fit him, which was a question he had to have answered later - and very much unlike Len, he was playing with fire. 

Also, it's not like they could table what happened this morning forever. 

“What are you doing here?” Barry asked. 

“To prove I can,” Len said. A line that usually would make Barry damn near speed him out of there, just to prove that _he_ could, but Len’s voice was odd. Shaky.

“Everything alright?”

“Ah. I'll wade on through.” He put a palm on the countertop by Barry’s hand, not quite touching.

"You don't have to do it alone, you know." 

Len gave a sad smile. "Don't I?" He breathed in, bone deep, Barry could hear the crackle in Len's ribcage from where he stood with his diaphragm opening up and settling in once again. "Don't know any other way, Barry."

That was... well that wasn't exactly unexpected. As much as Barry's drifting off had been leaving him feel a bit burned out on the whole situation, it also did remind him that this probably wasn't easy for Len, either. It came as no surprise that Len wasn't inclined to reach out for emotional support; he just didn't have those kind of resources growing up. Mick was a friend, obviously, but that didn't mean he was particularly useful when it came to situations like this. 

"You don't have to know right now," Barry said. "But I'm here."

Len chuckled, but it lacked any mirth. "Thanks, Barr." 

They stood for a while, Barry shifted through his materials, debated just going back to work and having plausible deniability. But Len was taking up space in this room, and it all felt very charged. Almost like he had stepped into the speed force. 

"What's your plan?"

"Don't have one." 

That made Barry stop. The words felt like they were carefully curated to make a fuse in Barry's brain blow out. "Since when do _you_ not have a plan?" he asked. He tried to think back to what Len had told them before, told _Team Flash_ and tried to regain understanding of the situation. "Are we already on step, what is it, four? Throw away the plan?"

Len brushed off his police uniform and took off his cap to set it on the table with a sigh. "No, didn't have one to begin with." 

Barry frowned, but clearly drawing attention to the issue was making Len uncomfortable. He knew this wasn't like him either. Could see it in the twitch of his muscles, in the way he kept rolling his shoulders. This whole idea was risky, so risky. Len wouldn’t usually take unnecessary risks like this. He was too good, too smart, and this was unsettling even if it was necessary. Barry wanted to talk about what happened, had been wanting to talk to Len about anything all morning, but to lay it all out on the line in Barry’s place of work? Where Joe could overhear, or anyone else who recognized him? Where any policeman would be happy to slap cuffs on Len’s wrists? When their conversations veered just too close to Flash business? Len was playing with a lot of unknown variables, which was so unlike him Barry wondered if he wasn't a Len from another Earth. 

He kept looking at Barry and looking at the exit, and Barry kept staring back. Neither sure of how next to proceed. Because they both saw the risks, and it seemed, they both were willing to take them just to talk a little longer. 

Barry had missed him, even though they'd only been apart a short while. He just wished that he had a better clue of how to shake off what happened this morning. 

"Maybe you should go find Lisa. See her before you head out." 

"Already did." His voice sounded strained, so strained it was almost two voices. One rough and low and quiet, the other higher pitched. The sound of someone in pain. The sound of a whimper made after getting hit.

"What happened? Is she alright?" Cisco would be calling him in a panic if she wasn't alright, but maybe he just hadn't heard yet. Maybe it's something just between the Snarts, they both could be so mysterious with these things. Like cats, wanting to lick their wounds alone. 

“Ah, she's fine, really,” he said. Quiet. Then he stiffened up, tried to shake loose the melancholy that so clearly was draped over his shoulders. “Too good with Ramon. Smart of him to only interact with Lise when I'm not around.”

“Well, I’d prefer you not freeze him,” Barry protested.

“Thankfully I’m leaving, so I only need to last 10 more hours, 32 more minutes and 17 seconds.”

“Do you think you can?”

Len made a drawling humming noise. Shook his head. “Outlook looks bleak.”

"Dang, I'll let him know to watch out for you then. Keep the Flash on your tail." 

"Not sure you'd win that one," Len mused. 

Barry grinned. "You wish." 

There was noise from behind them, a couple of officers walking nearby. Barry hoped that neither would come in. Just the way they were talking - the way Len was looking at him which was a bit too kind for any cop and a CSI - would give them away. 

Len watched, scrutinizing. A small smile playing on his lips. "How do you want to play this?" 

"You should probably go."

"Can't now." Len seemed all too delighted about that fact, Barry almost wanted to hit him. Instead, Len reached for the evidence Barry had been working on. "Tell me what you're doing."

"It'll bore you to death."

"Doubtful, Scarlet." He scooted a little closer, not quite a nudge but making his presence known. "You're incapable of boring me to death." Then he pushed himself away. "Talk to me."

"I can't tell you about current cases."

"Tell me the process. Teach me something." 

He was watching with wide eyes, taking him all in. Len was good at that. Just absorbing all the information in front of him, and Barry had to admit he was flattered when Len focused that ability on _him_. He caught every expression that passed on Barry’s face, listened to every word out of his mouth and egged him on further, even though what he was talking about was nerdy and scientific and also probably giving Len leads on how to avoid getting caught in his next heist. Barry would lay on Len’s carpet with the hexagonal geometric patterns that Barry sometimes imagined were what Len’s mind looked like — “ _no, I didn’t steal that, Scarlet. Actually got that as payment for a job, or rather, the vehicle for the payment of a job”_ — and he’d use his hands as he talked and be looking up at Len and Len would be looking down at him like he was trying to commit him to memory. Then Barry would stop, sheepish and smiling in a way that showed it, and he’d fold his hands over his chest in wait for Len to respond. There were times when all Len would do was smile. Tell him to keep going. And because Barry was desperate to be heard when he wasn’t dressed in red, he would.

He did that now. Talking about the same nerdy things, the same processes. Brought out the microscope he had let his mind sail away on earlier, and Len listened. He could tell. Asked questions. Barry felt a little bit like he was teaching an intern. 

Len, an intern at the CCPD CSI unit. Another lifetime, but, that could have been so fun. Looking at Len now, he wondered if Len ever wished for things to be a little different. Then again, he wouldn't be Barry's Len if he wasn't Captain Cold. 

It was long past the officers having left that they talked about processes. Barry able to get a little bit more work done in the context of "teaching".  It was simple. The falling in and out of the serious conversation. How much nicer it was to talk about silly, stupid things. Clearly, Len preferred it too, the way that the smile almost came easy to his face. It was always easy to smile when they were talking with each other, but something bigger was going on. Something that had Len acting so strange, and looking so distant, just out of reach. 

Though, he could see that this was Len's idea of finding his own way. But it didn't seem to be working, and Barry didn't know how to close the distance either. Len's gaze began to dart, began to shift around, not quite casing all the exits, more like taking in the room. Just trying to piece everything together as though it'd shattered and spilled out on the floor. He looked so unsure it was unlike him, leaning over that one hand, but even doing simple things he just seemed unlike himself. Bent like so, like everything taut in him had snapped and now he was slack lined and about to fall onto the floor. 

Len didn't have a whole lot of people to rely on, and Mick wasn't exactly the most stable, but he did help provide _Len'_ s stability. So, Barry asked, "What about Mick? His recklessness always seems to bring out your..."

" _Cool_?" Len asked, a small tease. 

Barry snorted. "You're terrible. But yes, your _cool_." 

That was when Len shook his head. Where his eyes kind of glazed over. God, he almost looked lost. "Seen him. Didn't exactly go as usual either. I've been informed that I may have lost all that chill, as of late. Thought I'd come back here and retrace my steps, but..." He rapped his knuckles on the table, almost reaching for Barry but not quite. "As much as I love seeing your pretty face, it doesn't seem to have done me any good. I'm just messing up your work day." 

"I don't mind," Barry said. It was a welcome distraction, if he were being honest. However, if Captain Singh came down here he would have a lot of explaining to do. 

"I do." For the first time, Len's gaze looked all too clear. Hyper-focused on Barry. "Already screwed up with you this morning, you don't need to get hit twice. Not unless next time it's as Captain Cold and the Flash," he said with a wink. 

Barry had not even considered that Len might actually have a heist set up for later. It would be so like him to go out on a bang as Captain Cold, but the whole idea sounded so _exhausting_. He folded his hands together in fake pleading. "It's your last day here," Barry whined. "You're not really planning on robbing any stores, are you?"

That was when Len really laughed. Manic almost, but free, grinning at Barry who broke his plaintive gesture with a laugh of his own. 

"I wish I did just to see the look on your face," Len said. Picking himself up a little, he met Barry's gaze with a wild one of his own. "Could maybe get you to set a record time."

"Since when did Captain Cold want to help the _Flash_ set a new record?" 

"It'd be a grand gesture," Len said. "Isn't how this goes? It's much easier to make a grand gesture as Captain Cold than it is as just Len." 

"Why do you need to make a grand gesture?" The last thing that Barry felt he needed was a grand gesture. He didn't even really need an explanation, he could piece things together now that he'd had the time to think on it. They just needed a better attack plan than Len telling him to find someone else, because he wasn't going anywhere. Not if Len didn't want him to, and _actually_ didn't want him to, not fake push him into trying to date someone else. "There's nothing you need to apologize for. But... I want to work on this."

That set Len on edge. His shoulders drew back into knots and his jaw ground tight, the muscles along the bone shifting ever so slightly. "I don't know how to work on this."

"You don't have to figure it out by yourself."

"I think I might," Len said. 

Barry frowned. Reached forward to touch Len’s arm, to pull him into an embrace or _something._ “Len —”

But Barry stopped short. The gasp from earlier, the wheeze, the way that Len threw himself away from him in a panic, he could hear it in his ears and feel it in the tendons of his arms. It hadn’t happened yet, but Barry could see it almost as true as if it had, almost as if the static-sparking air had followed them there. He didn’t want to hurt him again, he didn’t know how he’d react if that happened again.

Len swallowed. Unlike then, when everything seemed to go so fast, this time it all felt so _slow_. Len never flinched, but his wide-eyed look changed. Half-lidded and exhausted, eyebrows unfurrowing. A nod in acknowledgement. He took Barry's hand and cradled it as though Barry had broken it, and Barry just stood pliant as Len pressed his hand to his chest in rejection, coupled with a sad smile.

“Barr.”

Barry was just staring at him. He felt like he knew where this was going but he also felt so very confused. Felt so off _track_. 

"Barry". Len's voice was so low, so soft, somehow traveling the distance he had forced between them. “I've been watching you this whole time. You're an affectionate guy, you keep reaching out 'cause you can't help yourself, but when it comes down to it..." He squeezed Barry's hand once. "You're afraid to touch me." 

Barry reeled at the words. Blood rushed in his ears. A thousand words breezed through his mind but none of them made it to his mouth. He stared at Len dumbly, who squeezed Barry’s hand once and let go.

Grabbing his police cap, he put it back on his head, bill low so that it covered his eyes. He was preparing to leave, and Barry couldn’t bring himself to stop him.

His throat was dry. This wasn’t like when Len fled his own apartment, where he was clearly running away. Even though this was so risky, even though if Len got caught they’d both be in so much trouble, he was taking his time. Waiting for Barry to say something, anything, that might deny it. But his throat was dry, and all the thoughts in his mind lacked detail. All half-thoughts, _what is the word for…_ but then he never found the word, so he remained silent.

The truth was that he was afraid to touch Len. He still felt the fear radiating off of Len in the moment, the way his body spasmed underneath his touch, even though none of that happened this time. Even though Barry never even gave it the opportunity to happen. It wasn’t what Len thought, though. He was afraid to touch him not because he was afraid of Len, but because he was afraid of the reaction. It was just that Barry didn’t want to _hurt_ him.

"We can figure it out, Len. You've managed to get comfortable around Lisa and Mick -"

"When Mick grabbed my shoulders today, I jumped a foot in the air. Haven't done that in years. You said it yourself, and it's been all over your face the whole time I've been here - it's getting worse." He reached over and cupped Barry's face. A soft and far too openly fond gesture, but Barry leaned into it anyway. In the back of his mind he thought to make sure they weren't doing this in front of any cameras, but knowing Len, they weren't. Barry could usually rely on him to stay out of sight of security. 

He'd wanted affection, and it was so warm against his face. Len could be so _so_ warm. Barry wanted to give back, but he just didn't know how to start it anymore. Even now, he debated reaching out, reciprocating somehow, but something was telling him not to do it. Something was telling him not to touch Len because he didn't know what would happen. It was isolating in a strange way, and it broke Barry's heart. 

"It's not your problem. I don't want it to be, anyway," Len said.

"What if I want it to be?"

With that, he dropped his hand from Barry's face and stepped back. "Don't you have enough of the world's problems on your back?" he asked. "I think your hero complex is stretched a little thin. Besides, I don't need saving. Just need to stop seducing pretty things who then I can't let touch me."

Barry snorted. It was funny, but it wasn't funny. Len was good at walking that line. It almost made him want to cry, but maybe that was the look on Len's face doing that, too. The way this kind of felt like a long goodbye. But Barry wouldn't let it be. 

More sounds. More officers. Len grimaced. 

"You have to go," Barry said. "But we _will_ talk later." 

"Don't know what more talking's gonna do," Len said. "I think we've hit a crossroads. But what can I say?" Len reached for the handle of the door and gave him a grin. Far too open for someone who was claiming that they were going to go shut themselves out all over again. "I'm always willing to hear what deal the Flash has for me." 

Tipping his cap, Len turned away from Barry and left the lab. Ran into another officer the moment he stepped outside and managed to give him a nod and pass on with no problem, at least as far as Barry could see. He made move to follow him, but the moment he opened the door he was confronted with the officer who nodded at Len. In his hand, a notepad with a bunch of questions that he was supposed to bring back up to his superiors about the evidence Barry was analyzing.

It was time to get back to work. How many hours did Len say they had until he had to go on the Waverider? Until they'd be completely out of contact? 

He knew he couldn't let Len leave feeling like this. When in Barry's stomach he felt all twisted up in knots and it was so clear that Len was feeling the exact same way. When there seemed to be no hope for figuring things out. 

But Barry's optimism was hard to kill, especially when it came to Leonard Snart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ended up editing it quite a bit, so if Len is seeming a bit too soft let me know -- I evidently swung too hard at closed off to begin with which had some people throw up alarms, so hopefully this is a good line down the middle. 
> 
> This has been so fun to write so far, I'm thrilled to see where it goes. Thank you for all the support! For being new to the fandom, the reception has been very kind. Thank you :)


End file.
